


The Mycroft Problem

by Doctorwhogirl13



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Implied Johnlock, M/M, sherlock can't deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5895193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doctorwhogirl13/pseuds/Doctorwhogirl13





	The Mycroft Problem

Sherlock left the morgue, having to confirm the identity of the body. Molly had given him sympathetic looks the entire time of the process, but he ignored her. He couldn't acknowledge her. It would have ruined everything. 

It was him. Of course it was him. Sherlock had been notified of something wrong within an hour of Mycroft's disappearance with the security measures in place. 

Numb. He felt numb as he walked out without a word spoken. His hands were thrust into his pockets and he slowly walked down the hallway. John was there waiting for him, a look of sympathy on his face too. 

“So was it...?” John began.

All it took was a look from Sherlock and John fell silent. Sherlock was not in the mood for talking to anyone. He didn't want his voice to betray the wave of emotions that was threatening to crash through. 

With a rush, Sherlock made his way to the flat. Not fully caring if John was keeping up with him or not. It was a cold January day, and he should have hailed a cab. Perhaps that is what John was yelling at him about from several paces back, but he paid no mind. The walk was necessary. Something physical that can get his mind off of...everything else. Distracted by the wind against his face, the crunching snow under his shoes, the glimpses of conversation of people that passed by. 

Before long, he arrived at the front door of 221. The door knocker was straightened. From the last time... Sherlock opened the door quickly before that thought took full hold. He somehow made it up the stairs, and stood inside the threshold, not knowing what to do. He always knew what to do...Mycroft always knew what to do...

“Sherlock, are you sure you're ok. It's perfectly normal to not be. He was your brother.” John said in that concerned voice of his from behind him. 

“I don't want your pity. Nor do I need your concern.” Sherlock spit out as he whirled around. “Give your concern to someone more appreciative.”

Much to Sherlock's dismay, it did not put John off, but his face became even softer. 

“I know what this is. You're trying to push me away. Well it's not going to work. I know you better than that.”

Sherlock was in the midst of storming off to his room, when what John said stopped him in his tracks. His hands rested against the door frame, bracing himself. Without turning, he replied. “You don't know me. No one does. Not anymore.”

His voice grew soft as he trailed off, and his head hung almost in defeat. 

John stood across the room, unsure at how to comfort his friend who had become as still as a statue. Then the sound of a choked sob came through the room. 

Quickly crossing the room, John placed a hand softly on Sherlock’s shoulder. “You don't have to fight this alone. Grieving is easier when you share it with someone.” 

“Leave. Me. Alone. John.” Venom almost dropping from every word. “I don't need you. I don't need anyone. I am fine on my own. Better in fact...” 

Sherlock’s knees buckled under him and he crumbled into a ball before John could offer assistance. Sobs racked his body as he could no longer hold them back. 

“Oh Sherlock...” John whispered as he wrapped his arms around the detective as best as he could in the small hallway.   
“When will you learn I'm not going anywhere. No matter how hard you push me away.” 

They sat together for a few more moments,, the silence punctuated by intermittent sobs from Sherlock. 

“Come on. Up you get. Your legs will fall asleep if you sit like this for too much longer.” John said with his doctorly voice. One he knew Sherlock would listen to. “Let's get to the couch, and I'll make you a cuppa.” 

Guided and supported mostly by John, Sherlock finally made it to the couch, collapsing hard, as if he didn't have an ounce of strength to support himself. 

John soon came with a steaming mug, and had to place it in Sherlock’s hand. It was barely grasped by the detective enough to keep it upright. 

“Drink it. You'll feel better.” John ordered. 

That got Sherlock to take a couple of sips, but it still wasn't as much as John would have liked. 

John shoved Sherlock over enough to make room for himself on the cushion and sat down. Almost immediately, Sherlock shuffled closer to John, nuzzling his face against the soft sleeve of John's shirt. 

As an automatic response, John found his fingers in Sherlock’s hair, gently stroking the curls in comfort. 

“If you don't want to talk about it now, that's fine. But just know, I'm here whenever you wish to.” John said softly. 

Sherlock tipped his chin, and looked up at John, tears glistening his eyes once again. Propping himself up a bit more on his arm, the tea was set on the table, and Sherlock leaned in close to John. 

Ever so softly, it almost didn't exist, their lips brushed against each other. 

John was caught off guard, and Sherlock took that as a go ahead, deepening the kiss a bit more. 

After a few moments, Sherlock pulled away, snuggling himself tightly against John's side once again. 

John listened to his breathing level out as Sherlock relaxed. 

“Thank you, John.” Sherlock mumbled before he drifted off to sleep.


End file.
